


Violence Fetish

by jxkuzure



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Cannibalism, Dark Will Graham, Electrocution, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Forced Ejaculation, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, M/M, Mutilation, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Psychological Torture, Sensory Deprivation, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-02-13 19:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12990819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jxkuzure/pseuds/jxkuzure
Summary: {NSFW Warning - Dark Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter Post Mizumono}—As easily as the flesh tore, Will continued to slice each morsel of flesh from toned muscle till the hysterical, maniacal mess castrated in front of him sobbed for relief. He didnt, however, cease his mutilation as those long strips of flesh made 'wet' thumps to the cabin floor. It felt right. He finally conquered what couldn't be defeated in battle. He had the great wrathful beast chained and betrayed.It felt righteous. It felt like a true design.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back at it again giving you grief and misery. The tags are a grievous warning to what the story will consist of so please, don't hurt yourself.

I

* * *

 

 

Europe was a vast continent with lands of different cultures, dialects, and histories. It stretched from the Atlantic to the East and blanketed a vast portion of the world. However, no matter how many lands, states, or seas could spare the monster evading his ultimate destruction. Hannibal may have found refuge in his native homeland or abroad in some foreign country but, his stain still left wet trails in his path. France, England, Germany, no matter where Hannibal wafted to, his shadow stalked him.

 

Will disembarked the plane, bone-chilled and damp from the cold downpour, with his furry companion, Winston trailing behind him on a leash. The international flight was insufferable if not heinous to be called _first-class_ _experience_. On the bright side, Winston was as joyful if not enthusiastic to wander around the airport. 

 

They walked together into the crowded terminal with the speakers blaring dozens of other dialects but, the only one Will could make out was English. Baggage claim wasn’t any better. He hadn’t packed much except essentials for Winston and some personal artifacts. His leather carry-on came out accompanied by bags of all shapes, sorts, and types. France, or what Will remembered of it from the travel brochures, wasn’t as lovely or romantic as poets and lovebirds chirped it to be. It was noisy, crowded, and reminded Will much of Baltimore with the exception of an entirely new culture and language. People of all sorts flooded the streets like a rush of human flesh bags. He had to keep his sight toward the sidewalk. He was  _ appalled _ by humans now. 

 

Will hailed down a cab and crawled inside with Winston. The cab driver had commented about Winston in a heavy French accent but, Will slid a couple Euro bills from the backseat. The driver didn’t comment further about Winston for the rest of the journey.

 

France blurred into a crescendo of flashing lights and traffic. Winston’s head was snuggled into Will’s thigh as the dog seemed to finally the expense of the long journey. The ex-profiler, however, was roused with new found determination. His side thumped with a dull ache. His fingers found the stitched wound on his gut. Sometimes, phantom pains reminded him that Hannibal’s knife was still digging, slicing into his flesh. Other times, he could feel how Hannibal held him as his knife twisted deep. It was a sickening sensation when Will remembered it. He had lied at the hospital when the doctors and shrinks asked him if could remember the abuses of that night. He didn’t want them to know the extent of his insatiable, deepening taste to have Hannibal confined, constricted, and completely submissive to Will. He wanted Hannibal’s blood for himself. He wanted to bathe in it and rejuvenate his mourning soul. His jaw clenched tight as the cab driver had began a conversation with him. He knew not a single word of proper French. The driver must’ve sensed Will’s inadequacy to reciprocate and left him alone. The drive was silent most of the part except when Winston would wake and bark at every moving thing. Will scratched his favoured companion’s belly as the dog seemed to inspire some kind of enthusiasm for the city.

 

After an tedious hour of seeing the sights and galores of Paris, the driver finally landed his vessel in front of a posh, antique-looking hotel right in the middle of the city.  _ Le Bristol Paris _ was an exquisite, old-styled Parisian hotel fitted with all the comforts of the world. His hotel fee was paid in advance with the thanks of a special consort. It took extra haggling to have Winston in the hotel. Eventually, the staff gave up and Winston happily had his own bed space. The dog had made himself comfortable in one of the curled, living chairs in the room as Will proceeded to unpack. He took out the few outfits he brought with him followed by a plethora of painkillers and antibiotics. His assigned doctor had overdosed him with vicodin. Will didn’t require artificial relief or respite, no, he  _ desired _ to feel every prang and prickle of pain. Every time his stomach churned from his wound, it excilierated him to pursue the defiler who maimed him. When he closed his eyes at night, he was haunted by the miasma of Abigail, begging and pleading with him to get up and chase the Ripper. That alone set the dirge within him to chase after Hannibal just like Victor did to his monster.

 

He wouldn’t rest till Hannibal was choking underneath his vice grip, sputtering and spitting, then finally still with impending death. That aroused,  _ very much so _ , Will’s determination. He peeled out of his rain-soaked clothes into a light, cotton shirt and stared out of his hotel room. From his perch, the Eiffel tower stood gallant in the night sky. Will only looked at the statue with awe. Under other circumstances, perhaps he would enjoy the city and what it offered. Culture, language, and art was in no short supply and Will saddened because his goal kept him on his righteous path.

 

He didn’t muse over his sadness for too long. He tucked himself into the plush mattress just as Winston curled in between the space of his thighs. It was uncomfortable at first but, Will welcomed the furry heater on his aching legs. Sleep evaded him for hours upon hours. Everytime Will would shut his eyes, it felt like antlers was piercing them and he would startle himself. Winston whined at every disturbance till he was used to Will’s constant rustling. Will bit his lip as he forced himself to lay still. His gut was burning uncomfortably.

 

He needed to capture Hannibal quickly. It was no mistake that Jack too was determined to ensnare Hannibal but, that once fiery ambitious glint in his eyes had faded into hopelessness. Jack had been handicapped after the battle. Hannibal had slashed his throat so thickly that even eating was a constant struggle for the former agent. Will visited him several times after he recovered from his own maiming. Jack had refused to even look at Will. The profiler said nothing as he sat by Crawford’s side like a silent, stalwart gargoyle. He did, however, demand of Will to take Hannibal and make him pay what he owed. Will promised Jack as his former boss only looked out the hospital room. That was the last Will had saw of Jack. Alana was still in her physical therapy. She had recovered quite a bit exception of the crippled legs. She had found company in someone else though. Margot had her utmost affections from the dusk till the dawn. Alana had shared letters with Will as he bounced to country after country on his search for the beast. In one of the letters, a picture of her, Margot, and a young child bundled between them made Will soft. The child couldn’t be no more than a few months old. It brought an angry tear to Will’s eyes as he remembered how he once could’ve been a father. 

 

Of course, he wasn’t going to be the most stable or static of fathers but, Hannibal took away his real chance of having something  _ sane _ for once. Mason was a spiteful, twisted cretin but, the abuses he conscripted Margot to was unforgivable. All because Mason was so infatuated to surpass Hannibal. A monster battling a bigger monster for their own rights to brag, how petty and saddening it must be to be so devious, Will swallowed his disgust.

 

Sleep came swiftly after his memories calmed. Winston had crawled up to sleep underneath Will’s chin. He held the dog as his slumbered. The city quieted as if it hushed Will to sleep. He was ready for what Hannibal had conjured. In fact, he welcomed to upcoming battle. Their duel was set in stone. The dragon versus the knight, how chivalrous it must be that Will referred to himself as the knight. His dreams took him away deep into sleep. His strength will be tested when he woke.

 

* * *

 

 

Hannibal enjoyed parties of all sorts, cocktail parties, formal parties, and his personal favorite, dinner parties. He mingled with the high and elite of Parisian society with swift ease. His accent drew those curious and interested in his motherland. He obliged them of course, telling them tales of Lithuania and its rich culture, and even offering himself as a teacher of the language to some of the party-goers’ children. However, he kept his guard up. He was very selective on who he allowed close to him. 

 

Some guests pried to deep and he had to politely excuse himself from the conversation. It was an ill-made attempt to distance himself from such ramblings of tipsy fools. They came in droves asking all sorts of tedious questions from where his accent hailed from to who tailored his suit. He shooed them away and caught the eyes of his companion. Bedelia, as stunning and graceful she was, seemed to grow foreign in the relatively familiar environment. She would skitter and fault whenever men and women alike would strike up conversation with her.

 

That made Hannibal feel uneasy as Bedelia no longer integrated herself within the festivities, instead, hovering around Hannibal like a struck dog. Hannibal hadn’t threatened her verbally or physically but, his power that sweated off his body was strong enough to cause anyone within his sphere to  _ fear _ of him. Bedelia was no different. She didn’t show her fear as visibly as others but, her eyes told a different story. They were deep and filled with misery. Hannibal could tell she had began to regret her decision to flee America with him. Time and time again he had reassured her if she wanted release, he wouldn’t cause her pain. It would a quick death. A sleight of hand could snap her fragile, feminine neck and she wouldn’t have to fear or worry ever again. Time and time again, Bedelia would refuse and steel herself once again.

 

It was tiring to be so shuttered in. Hannibal felt out of place whenever him and Bedelia would casually drift from one party to the next or art exhibit. They were on sailing an endless voyage to their eventual destruction. Hannibal had pictured it a dozen or so times along the journey from America. He pictured himself dead with bullet holes riddled in his perfect body most of the time. Other times, he could picture his guts hanging from his cavity. His killer had been masked in most of his musings except one, a familiar one, the only one who could stake him down into his coffin. Will Graham was his own twisted work, if Hannibal could take credit for the profiler’s misdirection into evil, and it always relieved him. Of all humans, Will was the only one that shedded Hannibal’s skin and saw the raw flesh underneath. No matter how evil, debaucherous Hannibal’s actions were, Will was always there, twisting into Hannibal’s hands like molasses.

 

He could admit that Will had his utmost respect and devotion. In a world void of minds capable of seeing what he could see, Will was a seer of great visions. Such a waste that Hannibal had to maim his only visionary. He remembered how sick it made him to watch Will crumple to the ground like a stringless marionette. He didn't reciprocate the same misery when Abigail’s life fled her body or when Jack and Alana met their fates. He didn’t care so much for them as he thought.

 

The party was dying down as too many party-goers drunk themselves into a stupor. Bedelia had found the company of a slim, handsome gentleman with dark hair and a suit that Hannibal wouldn’t catch himself dead in. Bedelia had met hannibal’s gaze but, the cannibal didn’t say a word. He silently wished her good fortune as the much younger gentleman escorted her to a chauffeured Mercedes. He wouldn’t have to worry much about his femme fatale, at least for a night, but he would enjoy the thought of Bedelia flying out from the nest.

 

He excused himself from the party to revel in the night of Paris. The air was sweetened with smells of a thousand restaurants. The stars glittered the pathway as Hannibal stood at the water’s edge of the venue. The waves lapped softly. Hannibal took in a deep inhale, then exhaled, then smiled as the moon greeted him with pale light. He hadn’t escaped much of the aftermath given that half of the world craved to see his head on a spike. It was fine with him though, he was used to persecution. All his life he ran. Miles and miles of land was beneath his feet. He fled from the Russians to only be persecuted by the Americans as a child. He learned to coexist with them, however, it wasn't the same. His family had scattered into dust. His last relative, an aunt by marriage, cut communication with him the moment she learned of his affairs. He expected her disgust. It was better that they didn’t communicate. He didn’t have anything left for her to try to love.

 

The night air had lulled him to tiredness as he hailed a cab from the street. The cab driver was happy to take him to his hotel across the city. It wasn’t as glamorous as he desired but, he didn’t expect to stay in Paris for too long. He thought of a trip to Nice to see the water, if time allowed. The next stop on his voyage was Germany in hopes of crossing with an old emissary. Bedelia was free to her own devices at this point. He had warned her if they were to split then she would be fresh meat for the wolf pack. She understood the terms and conditions but, insisted that she stayed at Hannibal’s side as his psychiatrist. He scoffed at the idea of him still needing her advice but, he allowed her to pick at his headspace every now and then. Clearly, he was sane.

 

His hotel room smelled faintly of Bedelia’s flowery perfume as he began to strip himself out of his suit. He showered quickly with scented soap and creams. His hair dripped as he came back to the main space. His bed wasn’t as comfortable as the one back home but, it performed his purpose. Sleep came easy to Hannibal. He didn’t suffer from the fits of guilt that other killers had. The ghosts of his victims didn’t stalk him or haunt him. In fact, he was guitless. Those rude souls couldn’t be conjured back into their fleshy vessels, so, there was no point weeping for their demise. They fed his hunger.

 

_ His insatiable hunger. _

 

* * *

 

 

Will woke early to Winston’s pawing. The small dog was pawing at his face and whining insistently. The sun barely peaked from the gloomy overcast as Will threw the blankets off his body and sighed. He slept soundly enough but, his body still felt sluggish. He washed himself in the bathroom as Winston waited patiently by the front door.  He shaved the remnants of his already trimmed beard. His face was soft and delicate underneath. It made him feel like a blank canvas. His boyish looks gave him an air of attractiveness and coyness but, it didn’t hide his dark overtones. He was beauty beneath madness. The profiler desired coffee. He dressed himself warmly as he leashed Winston and left the hotel room. No other guests had crept out their rooms. 

 

When you pay for such luxury, you should have the luxury of sleeping till your heart’s content. Outside of  _ Le Bristol Paris _ , the city was still drowsy. Few people walked the shirt this early in the morning. The drifting smell of hot coffee and pastries entranced Will to explore the city. Winston was happy to smell every new tree, bush, and flower bed as he tugged on the leash to get Will to stop. Eventually, the profiler stopped and allowed Winston to earth a brand new pile of excretions. He was so used to dog poop that picking it up didn’t faze him. He dropped it into a nearby trash bin as he continued to follow the scent of coffee.

 

A cafe nestled on the corner welcomed him with the familiar site of baristas making caffeinated ambrosia. Will used his smartphone to translate his order. The barista that took his order only stifled a snicker as the robotic translator stumbled on some of the dialect. She took his order in English. The warm cup of coffee cupped in his hands was automatic relief. Winston had settled for the ham off his ham and cheese sandwich. He wasn’t feeling much hunger compared to thirst. He sipped his coffee and watched the sleepy city streets slowly fill with people rushing to work and school. They were unaware of the monster that lurked within their city, oblivious to his crimes, and innocent to his crimes. Will was certain he would bring the monster to light so the entire world can persecute him. It would take time, however, his special consort had offered a great amount of wealth and amenities.

 

A cabin in the Alps had been rented under an anonymous signature by Will’s donor. The entire season, the cabin was his to become judge, jury, and executioner. Will already imagined Hannibal chained and beaten in the cabin. He would be bound in rope and chains as if it was natural to put him in such condition. He did know that his donor was someone close to the Lecter family, apparently, close enough for Hannibal to call his actual family. He didn’t question when the peculiar letter followed by some credit cards and phone numbers came into his mail at the hospital. He figured he wasn’t the only one hungered for revenge. Hannibal had taken many lives and those lives had families.

 

Will finished his coffee and cleaned up the bits of ham Winston greedily left under his feet. He thanked the baristas for the service and ventured back into the streets of Paris. He and Winston walked through half of the city, especially through old Paris, and took in the sights. The profiler wished he brought a camera with him because the buildings’ designs left him in awe. Next time, he vowed, he would record every inch of the city.

 

The phone in his coat pocket began to vibrate softly and he retrieved it as he walked. A text message from his sponsor had a picture attached. When Will opened it, all his hardwork and pain seemed to wash away in a downpour, and a smile stretched across his face. A clear picture of a tall, muscled man wearing an infamously known ugly suit exiting a venue made Will’s heart skip several beats. He looked the same and it made Will smug. The monster still dedicated to his personal appearance rather than converting himself to a new identity. That made Will’s hunt far too easier. He knew Hannibal couldn’t linger long from extravagant parties or art exhibit openings. The beast practically was allured to the temptation of a new piece of Da Vinci. 

 

Will ran through his checklist. It would be best to catch Hannibal unaware and unstressed. He couldn’t beat Hannibal in an one-on-one fight, not without help or handicap, and Winston was far too docile to provide any assistance. The profiler would need to subdue Hannibal physically in order to handicap him mentally. The tyrant was strong but, not virtuous enough to be unraveled. Will began to reply to his donor with indications of his plan. He would have to capture Hannibal from the shadows. He would pluck the tiger by his toe and drag him into a dark demise. Will ushered Winston to finish his business as the small dog had taken interest in a particular tree, lifting his leg up, and spurting out urine.

 

He had only only chance before Hannibal would flee to who knows where. Will wasn’t going to sabotage his only chance. Not again, not ever, he won’t allow himself to be abused any longer. This, he vowed till the dunes turn to ash and the stars fall from the heavens.

 

* * *

 

Bedelia didn’t return like Hannibal expected. She didn’t call or indicate that she was tired of their voyage. Hannibal assumed that the young man she had the favour of the night with had been treating her so well that she was too spoiled to leave his fancies. Though Hannibal never thought of Bedelia as a greedy girl, he could see her enjoying the luxuries of a rose petal bath or servants rubbing her feet. It didn’t matter, in fact, Hannibal welcomed the solitude. It made it easier to travel when he didn’t have a damsel such as Bedelia so stunning at his side.

 

Hannibal dressed plainly as he embarked in the broad daylight of Paris. He kept his hair disheveled and ungroomed though his own psyche was telling him to present himself. He fought the habit as he grabbed something to eat at a corner market and continued walking. He watched people as they passed him, smelled their fears and insecurities, and drowned in their desires. People in general was nothing but larder and fat. The gorged themselves on fancy dinners and cars but, never on anything genuine or humane. Hannibal lied when he told himself he deserved his car, estate, and wealth. It felt like a facade. Every time he buttoned up a suit or groomed his body to masculine perfection, it was all for show. It made it easier to cull his meat when he looked like them. In reality, he was all black. He had horns, teeth, and scales. He was a true beast underneath the cologne and suits.

 

Hannibal stopped his stroll on the other side of Paris, the crowded buildings of slums and makeshift tents greeted his pathway. Degenerates shuffled their way through the filth and muck of their dwellings as Hannibal observed them. He wished them good fortune as he continued walking. There was a train nearby that roared nasally in the distance. The buildings were old and decrepit but, provided the much needed sanctuary Hannibal needed. An old fabric building was easy to slip in and out of as Hannibal took in his surroundings. He’s been here several occasions when he slaughtered his supper. They were cut from the poor, classless cloth as much of Paris didn’t care for what struck their defenseless. There was still blood caked on the musty floor as Hannibal turned to pull a thin sheet off an old loom. He laid it on the floor below a series of chains and hooks descending from the ceiling.

 

He didn’t know what he really craved. He wanted something fattening but not greasy. His palate had been distorted since leaving the States but, nonetheless he still craved his favored meat. The curved fishing blade he kept from that night sat within his belt as he contemplated what he fancied for a meal. Mentally, he made note of what to look out for, scars, sores, and overall disease. Though the slums of Paris was infected with foulness, he found some of the most lean meats on this side of the city. When hunger sucked the meat from the pig bones, the meat tasted much more fragrant rather than the fatness of the elite.

 

He sat there in the middle of the abandoned building and meditated. He took easy breaths in and out. He waited for the unlucky fly to wander into his snare. The hunt no longer thrilled him anymore. He was willing to take whatever got trapped within.

 

_ As he waited and waited. _

 

* * *

 

Will left Winston in the hotel room unwillingly as the little dog howled and whined to resume the journey with him. He tried to calm the dog with promises of treats and kisses but, the dog wasn’t having it at all. Eventually, Will was able to escape Winston’s neediness and got into a cab that took him halfway across the city. More texts came along with pictures. Hannibal was near and Will felt antsy and anxious. His fingers tickled to wrap them around Hannibal’s throat and squeeze. His lips quivered at the taste of Hannibal’s blood on his lips, moistening them red, and tasting like  _ justice _ served. He dug his nails into his palms as the driver neared the slums. It was a wrecked place with deserted buildings, rows upon rows of tents and makeshift camps, and an air that wreaked of hopelessness.

 

Will watched people scurry about their business with moroseness plastered on their face. Nobody deserves to live in such conditions. The driver set him free on a street with dozens upon dozens of abandoned factories and manufacturing plants. Steel and brick blocked him in like prison walls as Will took in his surroundings. If he was sly like hannibal, any of these buildings could be his lair. Or perhaps, none at all. The pictures did not look too far apart from the environment, Will noted the distinct yet faded picture of swan mural. He couldn’t read the etched French but, the swan was recognizable. Will walked through the gutterways between the buildings with his eyes scanning each of the buildings’ walls.

 

Most had graffiti sprayed, painted, and sprayed over again but, it was oddly fascinating to see. Will felt like he was an explorer in a jungle. Every sound, clatter, and noise made him jumpy and curious.  Another ping on his cellphone indicated he was getting closer. He turned on his heels to only be in utter awe. The faded, ruined mural of a swan with its wings spread and colorful streams of color opened Will with open arms. The old warehouse was destitute in nature but, a nirvana in the profiler’s eyes. He stopped himself from running head first to the building. He slid back around the corner and tucked his phone into his pocket.

 

If he was going to take down Hannibal for good this time, he couldn’t be blinded by his hubris or his justice. If his former psychiatrist knew Will as Will thought he knew of him, Hannibal would be waiting for him. He would be smiling and making jests like nothing violent or malice had occured between them. The same man that blamed him for murders only his mind conceived, had him locked away in a shrink house, then finally tried to gut him like a hunted buck. Though, he wasn’t completely naked. In his pocket, a syringe filled with serum had been specially prepared for the event. Will didn’t know how far Hannibal would allow him to approach before reacting but, if he learned anything from that night, Hannibal desired contact. He enjoyed the way Will shriveled up in his embrace.

 

Realistically, Hannibal only wanted human contact through Will. Had the profiler been in Hannibal’s twisted shoes, he would be just as lonely if not miserable. Hannibal had the inability to truly contact with someone other than to manipulate and gorge on their insecurities. But when Hannibal was with Will, his whole world became a supernova and everything in the universe fell into place. The profiler wasn’t here to make Hannibal human or realize his sins, he wanted his blood, his guts, and his soul.

 

Will took in a couple of relaxed breaths and steeled himself for the upcoming duel. He mentally imagined himself in a full plate of armor, charging in a cave where the dragon dwelled. Fire would burn at his iron and flesh but, his sword will be true and strike the dragon’s heart.

 

The profiler had to climb up an abandoned fire escape in order to enter the crumbled warehouse. Inside, the remnants of looms and dye tubs dwelled within like ghosts of a previous time. It smelled of rust and musty water as Will had to keep himself from choking. The surface beneath his groaned as every step Will took stressed it out. He was aware of the noise he was making. If Hannibal was within and could hear his steps, it made no difference trying to be chaste about his presence.

 

He descended down the metal steps and onto another floor covered with broken glass, rat-eaten fabrics, and broken furniture. It wasn’t much to behold. He had to step over the broken glass and debris in order to gain some kind of stable footing on this floor. His weight alone could plunge him to whatever dwelled below. He didn’t have to explore too much of the floor as he was met with another descending staircase. His breath hitched as soft, melodic humming bounced off the plastered walls. The song was all too familiar.

 

His cautiousness was awarded with his emissary, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, looking directly at his own storm blue. His heart skipped a dozen beats as he legs possessed him to finish descending the stairs. His throat felt tight as that familiar, oh so familiar face curled a smile at him that made his stomach weak. Was this Valhalla? Had he joined his fellow warriors in the afterlife, growing fat on goat and mead, and dueling till the morning sun?

 

“William”, the way Hannibal said his name made ants crawl on his skin. “You’re…”

 

Will didn’t respond as he stood between the large space between him and Hannibal. His face scrunched up in absolute disgust, revolt, and anger. His teeth began to clench so hard he was sure that somewhere in the world, a dentist was crying out in pain. His fists clenched into two, tight pale balls.

“So beautiful.”, Hannibal finished, his dark, deep eyes sparkling with  _ affection _ .

 

“—You know why I’m here, Dr. Lecter.”, Will’s voice was dry and unforgiving.

 

Hannibal flinched at the formality. He had assumed that him and Will was on a more personal, friendly level rather than professional. He didn’t give Will the satisfaction of a response as he kept his position on the floor. The profiler was absolutely stunning; his once bearded face now boyish and soft, and his curls plucked and tucked neatly behind his ears. Hannibal wanted to weep at such beauty but, all he did was smile. Proudness swelled in his chest. He was finally going to get the death a monster like him desired. He wanted the profiler to get on top of him, strangle the life out of him, and finally put him down like the rabid dog he was now. He wouldn’t fight Will of course, not entirely, but he wasn’t going down without shedding blood. 

 

Will had began to approach him as he rose to his feet. His tall stature stunted the profiler by several inches but, Hannibal wasn’t the one to pick on other’s handicaps especially in a fight. He allowed Will to cross the distance between them. He smelled the rich cologne on his skin, the aftershave he used the morning prior, and the smell of dog on his coat. It was all foreign and familiar at the same time. Something told him to reach for Will and hold him down, kiss him, devour him but, his body stayed glued in place. The profiler swung at him with his whole body and the punch caused Hannibal to falter. 

 

His entire face caught the blow as another one made its mark in his side, his chest, then his face again. Hot, red pain flushed Hannibal’s face as he fell back and blood began to drip from his nose. Another smile creased across his aged face. He had prepared Will for everything. He looked so valiant as he punched, kicked, and tossed him across the warehouse. Hannibal hardly struggled when Will grabbed a handful of his silvery hair to get better leverage for his punches.

 

One after another connected with his face as Hannibal bursted into a fit of laughter. Will was beaded with sweat as his breath was growing erratic and hot. He was getting tired but, his punches still kept their steel force. Of course the outcome was going to be a bloody death but, this was Will’s ultimate design, his masterpiece, his Da Vinci. Hannibal recollected the first time he spied upon Will Graham. He was a shaggy, anxious thing that smelled of night sweat and whiskey but, he was the most vivid creature Hannibal had ever seen. He didn’t want to leave Will in a puddle of his own making or his own guts but, the moment he smelled that cursed woman on Will the day before, his mind settled. He couldn’t bear the thought of Will betraying him, not after all they shared, and all they discovered.

 

“You took everything from me!”, Will snarled as he smashed his fist into Hannibal’s face, the sick crack of something breaking made his punches more furious. “You made me into this!”

 

Hannibal beamed with glee as every punch brought him closer to his desired Valhalla. He could hear the valkyries singing his name and the pearly gates above opening for his arrival. It was going to be a marvelous death. Will clutched his hair even tighter as he brought it down hard on the concrete floor. His vision swam with deep, black spot for a couple of seconds. Just as that twisted hand was tangled in his bloody hair, it was sprung free. Hannibal sputtered pitifully on the floor as he could hazily watch Will take off his coat and retrieve something from within.

 

A cellphone and a syringe.

 

The syringe appeared to be empty as Hannibal’s head rolled back. Perhaps Will wanted to keep apart of Hannibal even after his body drew its last breath. But to his own surprised, the sound of a camera shuttering only absolved his hopes for his timely death. Hannibal tried to look at Will again but, his vision was getting too foggy. He felt a prick of something enter his flesh and something hot, ferocious burning through his veins. His body seized up immediately at the invasion as his heart began to beat like a war drum. He tried to babble words but only incoherent sounds escaped his bruised lips. He did however feel a pair of rough yet gentle hands cup his face. He was forced to look his beloved in the eyes.

 

“If you thought this was the end, you’re so so wrong.”, Will said darkly, his eyes lidded with some kind of awakened fetish for vehemence.

 

Hannibal couldn’t understand. Was he being spared? Why hadn’t Will delivered the last blow to his heart? The former psychiatrist couldn’t even keep his eyes open as that familiar creep of darkness was fast approaching. He remembered how Will’s lips felt against his bruised, inflamed skin as they met his forehead. This couldn’t be the end. His final performance couldn’t end like this. Death to the arts, Hannibal wanted a flamboyant death filled with fire and violence.

 

Will only cupped Hannibal’s head as he gently kept it from slamming back down on the concrete. His design had been constructed. As he turned around to look over his shoulder, the tall, dark ominous figure of Hannibal with jagged horns and claws only melted into a puddle of its own making. Down did the beast slumber but, he wouldn’t be incapacitated for too long. Freeing one hand from Hannibal’s head, Will began to dial the only number he had programmed into the cellphone. He held the phone up to his ear and listened to the ringing. Eventually the line clicked and only silence came from the other side.

 

“I caught the tiger by his toe.”

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything comes into play. Will has the tiger safely tied up, not knowing of hidden dangers, and delves deeper into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If you think this has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention." - Ramsay Bolton.  
> Surprise surprise, I'm making this longer than what I expected because it actually sounds good? For once I make something coherent? Must be some of that fake news I've been hearing about.

II

* * *

 

 

Winston yapped happily while curled in Will’s lap, the small dog never seeming to sadden or damper the mood. His owner sat in the passenger seat of a pitch-black, expensive van with three armed men sitting silently in the back. They didn’t offer their names or pleasant conversation, best for them all, but they did offer protection. The driver had introduced himself as Marc and he was the only one from the group that spoken fluent English. Will wasn’t in the talking mood though. He had them sent by his anonymous sponsor. He couldn’t move Hannibal by himself let alone drag him into a taxi cab.

 

When the van had arrived, his belongings from the hotel had already been packed for him. His reservation was cancelled prematurely and no trace of his presence remained in France. The only thing left was get him safely into the Alps. A road trip had been in order but, his sponsor at the last minute reserved a private plane up to the designated cabin. The driver was instructed to bring him to a strip near Grenoble and from there, Will had the freedom to abuse and tear at the beast chained in the back.

 

He would miss the city eventually. It was a hassle to leave Paris though. Customs checked their van to only find nothing but a company of travelers, a dog, and some luggage. The company was dressed in plain clothes except for Will, his suit and pin up coat was a dead give away he wasn’t from the ordinary crowd. Customs checked the van for a few moments but in the end, allowed the van pass freely.

 

Will was anxious to say the least. He had given Hannibal a generous amount of haloperidol after he beat the monster into a fleshy pulp. Will asked the driver to translate as the group sitting behind them upholstered their guns. One of them, a lanky but capable gentleman, zipped back the body bag Hannibal was buried in. His face was still black, blue, and red all over but, he looked at peace. He wasn’t scrunched up in pain or despair but, he was at ease underneath all his cuts and bruises. Will scoffed and turned back forward. If the monster thought he would get the luxury of dying a dreamless sleep, he was mistaken.

 

The countryside of France had its allure. It wasn’t polluted with the gas stations or greasy food-chains like America’s highways were. Will found himself dozing off with Winston curled in his arms. The men around him, however, remained wide-eye and attentive. They knew of Hannibal’s murderous prowess and that left them on the edge of a very tall pinnacle. Hannibal hadn’t moved since he was loaded into the back of the van. He was, sadly, still drawing ragged breaths in and out of his cursed body. Will ended up taking a short cat-nap till he was woken up later in the car ride. The day turned into evening as the van trugged to a complete stop.

 

The profiler stretched his aching body as Winston contorted in his lap. The little dog yawned so wide that his jaw snapped back down hard. He opened the van door and Winston tumbled out first, sniffing around curiously, then followed on Will’s trail. The air was cool up here. They must’ve traveled the entire day. He didn’t know the time lost or what time zone there were in now. The guards exited out the van in unison as they carried Hannibal out like some kind of herse. Will winced when one of the guard’s faltered and Hannibal’s head tapped bluntly on the floor of the van. The man quickly apologized in a flurry of French and English but, Will didn’t take much offense. As long as Hannibal drew breath, his plans would come into fruition.

 

A long, beautiful Beechcraft plane came over the horizon and landed gracefully onto the graveled strip. The propolers drew loud wails and Winston was tucked between his master’s legs. He comforted the dog with hushed whispers as the plane came to a silent purr. The pilot disembarked the aircraft with a cellphone in hand, greeting both Will and the driver, then finally turning the phone over to Will. He held it up to his ear.

 

“Will you keep him alive?”, a soft, feminine voice asked. Worry dripped from that voice as Will held back a snicker. Momentarily, Hannibal was still alive, but badly injured.

 

“Are you starting to have cold feet? You spent all this money on me to capture Hannibal but you’re backing down now?”, Will scornfully said, making a ‘tsk tsk tsk’ with his tongue. “Do you still love him, Ms. Murasaki?”

 

The line quieted by several seconds as Will watched the men accompanying him slide Hannibal into the aircraft. Will pursed his lips into a thin, stressed scowl. This was really happening but, the waters were growing cold with anxiety.

 

“Do you think you can _change_ him, Murasaki?”, Will accused.

 

The phone clicked with a dial tone and Will threw the disposable phone down to the ground, crushing it with his heeled shoe, and burying its contents down into the gravel. He despised Murasaki’s fickle conscious. She may have loved Hannibal when he was a young boy but, he was a grown beast that maimed too many of Will’s colleagues to deserve a merciful death. She knew of Will’s intentions the moment she called him in the hospital. She had practically begged him to see Hannibal’s scourge burned off this world. Family or not, Murasaki knew what it would cost her emotionally.

 

Will ushered Winston into the plane along with two of the men that rode with him in the van. The driver, Marc, and his other compatriot left the airstrip in the van to who knew where. Will thanked them for their help as the pilot steered the plane off the runway.

 

The flight was a quiet one with the exception of their breaths. Hannibal was still lifeless underneath the tarp as the off-brand mercenaries had him strapped into the pair of seats. Will kept a steady eye behind himself. Hannibal, with all due respect, had the strength not imaginable of a man his age. He was the apex predator in his day. There was a reason Hannibal didn’t indulge in greasy, fattening food or country clubs. In his world, if he couldn’t kill, he would starve and die. Will was in charge of his world now. He would tell Hannibal when to wake, when to eat, when to piss, and when he could _die_. He controlled the night and day now.

 

_It wasn’t a democracy anymore._

 

* * *

 

 

His head throbbed like a sack of marbles being flung around. His body screamed for sweet relief but, the bonds tight around his chest, legs, and arms was relentless around his body. He tried to wiggle his head free from what obscured his view and he was met with the sound of guttural, revolting bastardization of French. Hannibal remained still. His breaths came in low, shallow gasps. His head was hurting worse than what he perceived. What had happened in the span of hours had been fragmented. He could vaguely remember the brawl he had with Will, if it could be called that, but he didn’t exactly remember blacking out. The burning pain in his neck wasn't an indicator of something was forced in him then Hannibal was lost.

 

He could tell he was laying down but, he couldn’t quite move around like he wanted to. He smelled blood, gasoline, and the faint scent of dog slobber. His throat threatened to close on him as he laid there, contemplating, devising any plan he could to free himself.

 

So he laid there with a throbbing head and a sore body. The plane ride wasn’t turbulent or chaotic and the all too familiar voice of his favorite profiler, Will Graham, was soothing. His voice was harsh and filled with malice but, he was still his Will Graham. How majestic he looked dressed in his fine suit and combed hair. Hard to believe Will was a man grown with his beard hacked away to reveal boyish flesh underneath. Hannibal could admit he wanted to grab Will by his neck, slam him into the concrete, and finish what he had started. He dreamt of it as him and Bedelia bounced from country to country. When he fantasized Will squirming in his arms, he could only feel himself inside the profiler. His teeth would pull and puncture the flesh along his neck and shoulder as he would pull out, delve into that heat, and melt into something new. However, the feeling wasn’t reciprocated when Will found him in the run-down warehouse that acted as his killing ground and beat his face into a pulp.

 

He was fine with his fate. He welcomed it with open arms as the hounds of hell would howl his arrival into hell. Hannibal felt a rough hand on his stomach and he held his breath. The hand only gave him a few pats before leaving him undisturbed. The journey to wherever Will was whisking him too had a few bleak demises. The first demise was being extradited back to the United States. He wasn’t too welcoming to being electrocuted to death or injected with a cocktail of poisons. The courts wouldn’t even let him plead insanity, not after what he did to his colleagues, and how he fled to Europe. He did question how Will was able to devise such a capture. The profiler didn’t have much means of finances other than his pension from the Bureau. He wouldn’t ever dream of buying such tailored suits, much to Hannibal’s chiding, and he couldn’t afford to keep following Hannibal like this.

 

The only sponsor that could come to mind was _Murasaki_. As beautiful and mystical she appeared to be, she was the fox in the chicken coop. Fair and sensual she was to his uncle once upon a time, now, Hannibal only thought of her in disgust. She hated him the moment his uncle brought him home nearly three decades ago, dirty, and riled with rage. As his aunt through marriage, she allowed him to stay in her manor, eat her food, and dress him in the finest clothes. It wasn’t out of love though. Murasaki feared what Hannibal could do. She feared that she would lose her sway over his uncle.

 

The days leading up to his uncle growing sick and dreary was when Murasaki gave him an ultimatum; leave her world forever or meet the same fate. Originally, Hannibal wanted refuse the offer and defy Murasaki until his uncle passed during the night. His face was scrunched up in pain and smeared with vomit. When the pastor came to say his final rites, Hannibal couldn’t even be in the same hallway. Murasaki only sat in her wicker chair on the patio overlooking her garden. Later, Hannibal packed all his belongings and took the first ferry to England then to the United States. Lithuania was no more, his family was dead, and Murasaki finally has had her day.

 

Hannibal silently vowed to rip Murasaki apart if he ever got the chance to see her again. His body finally gave out and it prompted him to take another pained nap in the body bag. He was lulled to sleep by Will’s voice though.

 

_He would dream of stags and darkness._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched the Last Jedi yesterday and me not being a die-hard fan of Star Wars, I was so into and got fucking angry when the movie ended. It was a really good ass movie.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has Hannibal captured and devises all the ways to rip the beast from the flesh. Hannibal tries to coax the profiler into releasing him.

III

 

* * *

 

The blanket of night safeguarded their elusive transport as the plane landed on some obscure strip at the opening of the mountain range. A ski resort, rustic but oddly beautiful,  perched high above where they landed was lit with lights. Will gave it some thought as the men with him carried Hannibal to a nearby pickup truck. It was an older 2000s model with chipped paint and burnt out plates. It wasn’t much but it would do. They slide him into the truck bed and proceeded to strap him down some more. Will threw his bag into the truck.

 

The restraints was as medieval as the torture Will had planned for the monster. He could spot the burns along Hannibal’s wrists as the devil had tried to squirm in his bondage. He would’ve thought his former psychiatrist was experienced enough in the matter that resisting was futile. Winston hopped into the back of the truck bed and sat on top of Hannibal, his wagging tail tapping against the plastic, and a “grin” plastered on his furry face. The dog didn’t recognize that his favored human that brought him  _ meat _ was underneath that plastic.

 

Will allowed the dog to ride in the back as he was sandwiched between the two men. There were both incredibly solid as Will felt like a child between them. He himself wasn’t built like a linebacker but, there had to be something in the food here that made these men so unyielding. Will kept an ear out for Winston as the old-style pick up drove lazily through a series of backwoods roads. The ski lodge was out of sight by the time the pick-up disappeared into the thick forest. The headlights weren’t much help underneath such a thick haze of darkness. The profiler found himself paranoid at every shadow plastered ahead of them. The men in his company only conversed in calm French.

 

He had fantasized this since he woke up in the hospital. His gut throbbed as he could still feel the curved linoleum blade slash and gouge his insides, that tender hand on his head, and how Hannibal cooed sweet nothings as he crumpled to the floor. Since that night, rain bothered him. He hated the sound of rain and thunder. The mountains were dusted in snow as the pick-up truck wheezed up one more hill into a thickly wooded clearing.

The cabin was of modest construction. It reminded Will much of his farmhouse in Wolf’s Trap as Winston was the first to hop out the truck and rushed to the front porch. The men squished by his sides muttered more French as they too exited the truck to slide Hannibal out. Will followed his dog up the steps with his bags in hand but was wary of the clearing. It was void of any indication of civilizations save for the cabin in the middle of the woods. The profiler unlocked the door with the key he was provided and entered the cabin.

 

It was a spacious opening with a full-stocked kitchen, a quaint breakfast area, and a living room void of the typical furnishings. Instead, there was a single chair with metal bonds secured on the armrests and where the legs would settle. Will clicked a light switch on the wall and the entire space lit up. The men came inside with Hannibal’s body and asked Will, once again, in French where to have the beast imprisoned. Will pointed to the chair and the men complied; unzipping Hannibal from the plastic, then positioning his dead weight into the chair.

 

Much to his dismay and caution, Hannibal was still in-and-out of consciousness as the metal bands snapped over his wrists and ankles. His clothes were strewn about his frame as his hair was stuck to his forehead. In some odd sense, he still looked  _ Hannibal-esque _ . Winston had retreated into the back of the cabin as Will thanked the men in the little French he remembered. One of them gave him his handgun, a Ruger SR1911, and a few bullets he had in his pocket. They left and Will could hear the raggedy pick-up truck wheeze away from the cabin.

 

That left only him and Hannibal.

 

He paced slowly around Hannibal as he studied every inch of Hannibal. He’s done this before whether it was during their “conversations” or out on crime scenes. This felt more intimate as Will ghosted his hand over Hannibal’s shoulders. He noticed how freckled Hannibal’s skin was, the fine lines that aged his face, and how  _ human _ he appeared to be. Will blamed himself entirely for not seeing the disguise. He stood in front of Hannibal again and cracked his knuckles. Every fiber of his psyche told him to beat Hannibal into a bloody pulp, snap his neck, and leave his body for the wolves.

 

Abigail deserved better.

 

Will unzipped the bag he brought with him at the dining table and took out its contents. A cattle prod, long and slick, then a gang strapped with a ring. The gag had been acquired through  _ devious _ means and Will didn’t trust himself with just a standard cloth gag. Hannibal was dangerous, he needed to be fully restrained. The cattle prod was a last thought as he remembered what happened at Mason’s pig farm of horrors. He’d been shocked before and knew it wasn’t pleasant. Next to come out the bag was needles of all sorts; short, medium-length, then insanely long. Their widths varied as Will unrolled them from its covering. Other contents of the bag was meager in their use.

 

Will looked over his shoulder again to find Hannibal  _ staring  _ at him. Those dark, richly colored eyes that Will once found himself entranced in was drowning in sickly  _ admiration _ . It made the hairs on Will’s neck stand as he couldn't fathom why any man, no,  _ beast _ could still have such affections. He turned to face Hannibal with the cattle prod in one hand and the gag in the other. Yet, Hannibal wasn’t intimidated or nervous. Perhaps he assumed that he could still coax the profiler to abandon his upcoming torment.

 

He thought wrong.

 

He opened his mouth to speak but Will was right there with the gag, snagging it between Hannibal’s lips, then securing it to the back of his head. Drool came in thick streams as it forced Hannibal’s mouth in an ‘o’. He looked disappointed as his maroon eyes followed Will back to the dining table. The profiler listened to that monster for three years. Three years worth of manipulation, lies, and gentle nothings didn’t help the fact that he absolutely  _ hated _ Hannibal. However, he would give his prisoner the  _ gift _ of having another “conversation”.

 

“I thought I was going to die that night.”, Will commented as he tested the cattle prod.

 

The forks crackled with electricity and Hannibal’s breath hitched in his throat. The profiler took a wicked side glance at his prisoner and turned the prod off. He kept it in his hand as he came back to Hannibal and leaned in.

 

“You thought I died that night.”

 

The accusation made Hannibal roll his head backwards to chuckle but instead more drool dribbled from the corners of his mouth. He didn’t think he killed Will initially, he simply killed what was holding him back. His intent wasn’t to kill Will, no, he could never kill the Will Graham. The profiler’s mouth twitched with irritation as he grabbed a handful of crinkled silvery locks and forced Hannibal to look at him. The fit of violence made Hannibal jump into the rough embrace as he stared into the deep abyss of Will’s eyes. He saw the hurt, the anger, and  _ restraint  _ the profiler tried to hide in his malice. The prongs on the cattle proud from his throat and he furrowed his brows at the sharpness.

 

“You should’ve killed me.”, Will snarled and released Hannibal’s hair, the man’s head jerking downwards. The prongs was removed from his neck.

 

As Hannibal was going to meet those eyes again, the sudden spark of the cattle proud’s electric fury against his thigh startled him. The instant shock made his body contract painfully as he could only scream his pain behind the gag. The prongs were lifted from his thigh and Hannibal found himself tearing up. Will turned around and placed the prong on a nearby shelf. He shedded his coat jacket to reveal a satin black shirt. The fashion choice was beautiful, Hannibal could recognize the superb tailorship that went into the clothing.

 

The profiler faced Hannibal again with something sinister yet oddly familiar brewing around him. Hannibal coughed as the pain stricken in his thigh didn’t subside, Those stormy blue eyes that once filled with enthusiasm whether it was from Hannibal presenting a gorgeous dinner or the images of killer was something darker, more evil in intent. Will stretched his hands from his sides and cackled.

 

“You  _ really _ wanted to see me?”

 

Nausea knotted in Hannibal’s stomach as Will’s laughter became more sinister, hysterical even. He knew something had unfurled within Will and it washed over him like a dreadful tsunami. He wasn’t a man to be afraid let alone nervous in the face of chaos but, when he looked at  _ his _ Will he saw something that wasn’t of his own making. No, he saw what he should’ve left within Will that night.

  
“I’ll show you my  _ true _ design.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please continue to support me. I appreciate all the reads, kudos, and comments you send my way. If you would like to interact with me or see any of my works, please go on my profile and look for the links I've posted.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wasn’t gentle in administering the potent dose of methamphetamine, diving the needle haphazardly into Hannibal’s flesh, and watched cruelly as Hannibal writhed in his bondage. He had something something along the lines of ‘feel what they felt when you chased them down’, but Will didn’t understand that the chase was nothing more than a fair sport. He wasn’t down-right cruel without reason -- He gave the rabbit time to hop before his jaws would snag tightly around their throats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the tags suggest, this is a violent work so I'd suggest reading with caution! Thanks for any feedback or support. Like always, I'll see you next time.
> 
> In the meanwhile, don't be afraid to read my other current work 'Kindred' posted. I also will have links to my Tumblr on the end notes in case you'd like to follow me or just talk to me.

Hannibal rolled his head to the side as a mixture of saliva and blood dribbled out his mouth. His eyes tried to focus though they were clouded with the delirium of narcotics and adrenaline. Will was a vengeful, cruel fiend that had spared no expense or sadism in his tactics.

 

Will wasn’t gentle in administering the potent dose of  _ methamphetamine _ , diving the needle haphazardly into Hannibal’s flesh, and watched cruelly as Hannibal writhed in his bondage. He had something something along the lines of ‘ _ feel what they felt when you chased them down _ ’, but Will didn’t understand that the  _ chase _ was nothing more than a fair sport. He wasn’t down-right cruel without reason -- He gave the rabbit time to hop before his jaws would snag tightly around their throats.

 

But, the profiler wasn’t hearing none of it as the cattle prod came again, this time, against Hannibal’s stomach. The instant bolt had Hannibal nearly vomiting as the electricity surged through his body. He groaned weakly as Will turned his back to him.

 

He still thought of Will as the  _ beautiful _ creature he had molted in. He was comfortable in his brutality but rabid in his vindictiveness. He saw it in their first meeting -- Will covered in the blood of Garret Jacob Hobbs, his eyes wide in terror. He was fragile then, but he was much stronger now that Hannibal looked at him in a dazed trance.

 

Will came back to Hannibal and stood in the gap between his legs. He held another syringe as the cattle prod was left abandoned on the dining table. The syringe, it’s contents unknown, was emptied into his bloodstream and Hannibal felt the substance burn in his veins. He struggled and Will threw the syringe aside. He grabbed a fistful of Hannibal’s silvery strands and forced him to look at him. He glared at him with his teeth grinding. Hannibal saw pure  _ hatred _ in those eyes he once found himself drowning in.

 

Those same eyes that would squeeze tightly in the throws of passion. Or the eyes that would light up after tasting something sweet, savory, or heavenly divine.

 

The same eyes that stared at him with so much malice that it made his own depravity child’s play.

 

Hannibal’s eyes fluttered close as black blobs threatened to block out his vision. His mind went into a catharsis from the pain inflicted, but reluctantly it stayed alert because of the meth in his system.

 

Will gave him a jab to his face and the force of it rocked his head backwards. A sudden rush of blood streamed from his nose. His face crinkled in the trauma, but Will kept his hair in a tight fist. He continued his jabs in quick succession and on the third, Hannibal was seeing stars. He felt his head being yanked down as Will briefly unlatched himself. The former profiler’s knuckles were slightly pink, the skin irritated from the trauma.

 

He was unhinged -- Erratic as what Hannibal expected him to be. Will must’ve dreamt of this very day as he was chained down for months in the hospital. Hannibal wondered did his gash tingle when he thought of him, running throughout Europe, and resuming his killing spree. Was it rush for the profiler every time Hannibal killed? That anticipation that perhaps one day, he would catch Hannibal in the act and cull him like he did to Hobbs.

 

Hannibal took in a shaky breath as Will rolled up his sleeves.

 

“You know, I wanted to forget about this.”, he commented, looking over to see Hannibal stare back at him with hazy eyes.

 

“It would’ve been easier to move on, you know? Start anew. The  _ shit _ normal people do.”

 

The profanity made Hannibal recoil, but he listened to Will monologue. He wanted to answer but the mask obstructing his mouth kept him silent.

 

“I tried, God, I tried my damn best to forget  _ you _ .”, Will said accusingly. “But  _ you _ made me like this.”

 

_ You were always like this, Will _ . Hannibal lowered his eyes to his own body, beaten, and restrained. He tried to flex his fingers and toes but they ached as they curled inwards. Will blamed Hannibal for his dark renewal, but it was always there. It encroached from shadows, behind doors, or in the deepest crevices of his rattled mind. Hannibal only saw it in it’s true, primal form and kept it nurtured.

 

“I never wanted to be  _ you _ . But here I am, heh, just like  _ you _ .”

 

_ No, you were always something much carnal than me _ . Hannibal rested his aching head on the back of the chair he was bound to. They were conjoined physically, mentally, almost violently like they were molded into one another the day they met. Will came back to Hannibal and unfastened the gag around his head. He threw it down to the floor and a tidal wave of saliva, blood, and bile came from Hannibal’s orifice.

 

The profiler wrinkled his nose as Hannibal took in several, hungry breaths. The ex-psychiatrist heaved and bellowed as the profiler went back to his table of torturous devices. He eyed them down from knives, guns, more restraints, then finally his favorite piece. The same knife Hannibal had gutted his insides with was stashed within a brown leather satchel. The blood long been washed off the blade but Will remembered the searing pain vividly.

 

He picked it up and looked at his silvery reflection in it. He couldn’t help but feel a devilish smile creep along his face.

 

Hannibal looked at him with expressionless eyes. Was he capable of feeling fear? Will came with the blood and without a word, he opened the flesh along Hannibal’s thigh. He saw how his thigh jumped and jittered at the sudden cut. Hannibal hid his pain with his bottom lip imprisoned between his teeth.

 

“You should’ve killed me that night.”

 

Hannibal scoffed and Will’s eyes furrowed tightly. He saw how the psychiatrist's eyes, though very clouded in the high, was clear and void of the same cynicism Will’s seen over the years.

 

“I can’t kill you, Will Graham.”, he said weakly. “You’ve already done it to yourself.”

 

Hannibal saw how Will’s nostrils flared as the profiler was quick to respond with another cut, this time, right across Hannibal’s cheek. It seared as the flesh was torn. Blood drooled down his face as Will made a stabbing motion down onto his thigh. The blade entered flawlessly into the exposed flesh and Hannibal cursed in every bit of Lithuanian he could conjure. Will twisted the curved blade around in Hannibal’s thigh, watching how the blood spurted like a erupting volcano.

 

The wound wasn’t deep as Will would’ve liked to made it. He wanted the  _ beast _ to feel every second of the scorching pain Will felt that night. He wanted it to be just as real as Hannibal as it was for him.

 

“If you thought I’d kill you tonight.”, Will whispered, his voice dangerously dark and nasty. “You underestimated me.”

 

Hannibal groaned and forced his head to roll upwards.

 

“...I never have. Not once. Not _ever_.”

 

Will, disgruntled with the responses was getting, retracted the blade out of Hannibal’s flesh. The wound pooled up and blood streaked the floors red. He would bleed out before morning came, if Will had wished to him to. The profiler reluctantly disappeared into the next room. Hannibal heard his deft footsteps followed by clattering of items being misplaced. He closed his eyes for a brief moment. He steadied his breathing to a comfortable pace though his lungs craved more intake.

 

When he opened them again, the room was much darker. The only light emitting was a small, desk lamp in the corner. It’s orange light revealed that the night was older. He looked around to see that Will was gone with the exception of his belongings. Another glance revealed that his battered thigh had been bandaged, recently, and it made Hannibal sigh morsefully.

 

Will, as beautifully complex he was, couldn’t  _ let _ go. He could maim Hannibal as much as he liked but the truth was evident.

 

_ His design was flawed _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](https://quinxcidence.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> This is my Tumblr where I reblog stuff I like, post fic updates, and just a general thing I have. My Tumblr also has a FAQ page which you can read up in case you want to know anything about me, my writing process, or like I said -- just a general thing I have. Of course, it's always free if you want to interact or have any questions.

**Author's Note:**

> Part two coming later as I spent the night writing this instead of studying for an important final. I came up with the story earlier this morning even though I had no idea what I was going to write initially but, it happened so. I plan the next part to be about the same length as this part if not longer.
> 
> If it's not much to ask, leave comments below (preferably with an account so I could reply back, I don't know how you can see comments if you comment as a guest? Through your email?) so I can read them. I'm really thirsty for feedback. Also, if its not a bother to also ask of you all, read my other recent works. Until we see each other again.


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